I don’t know. I felt pretty today. I liked how I did my makeup because I purposely tried to emulate a very South Indian look. The shawl I’m wearing is Indian. The kajal lining my eyes makes me feel closer to the women in my ancestry who have donned this for years. It’s a staple item!
So many people like to pretend they understand our culture, but we are so much more than yoga and samosas and Bollywood. These simple items I wear are hardly simple at all. My brownness is the scorching hot sun, it is the spicy, tangy food cooked with love and dedication, it is the struggle against rigid gender roles, the condemnation of violence against women and skin-bleaching products, and most of all it is my promise that I will never feel ashamed of my heritage. So think a little, and have some respect before you carelessly culturally appropriate. (Not saying you can’t wear shawls or eyeliner, but this is in specific reference to appropriation of bindis, traditional Indian attire, and so on).
James didn’t harass Lily nor did he bully Snape, this is based on one memory from a man who was obsessed with James’ wife
I ran across this quote on tumblr today and thought it had a few nuances that weren’t immediately obvious from reading it. Specifically, the phrase this is based on one memory from a man who was obsessed with James’ wife is important to remember.
Memories are not always accurate. In fact, although we base pretty much all our experience and decisions on our memories, they often are warped versions of what actually happened. How many times can you ask and get three or four different versions of a story? Your memories are colored by feelings, attitudes, and events both before and after the memory in question.
For example: I remember middle and high school as being hellish. Objectively, were they? No, not really. But because of my mental illnesses and a wide range of feelings, attitudes, and opinions about life in general, I felt like it was hellish in the moment. And that colors all of my memories to this day.
It is also quite possible to remember something the way you want to. Like, say the person you have a crush on interacts with you. Really, it was an innocuous conversation. You realize that in the moment. But once you’ve told your friends about it and replayed it in your head and analyzed every sentence you remember, then your memory easily supports your theory that said person fancies you back.
Memories are colored and warped by the rest of your life. Memories can be unintentionally altered. So what?
Well, the Harry Potter fandom has a headcanon that James bullied Snape and harassed Lily. This is used to vilify James, and often to exonerate Snape. All of this headcanon is based on one memory.
Why should we trust that Snape’s memory is accurate? He was obsessed with Lily and therefore hated James. He remembers himself as victim, although Remus and Sirius’ testimonies clearly state that he gave back as bad as he got. Whether he meant to or not, it’s very possible that Snape remembers himself as better than he was.
Also, Snape was obsessed with Lily. This obsession lasted for decades.
It is also vital to remember that this is one freakin’ memory. Not a complete picture. We don’t know what happened in the days before or after. We don’t have any context for Snape’s relationship with the Marauders. We know that it destroyed his relationship with Lily, but we don’t know how it fit into with his rivalry with the Marauders.
Not only is it one memory, but it’s described as Snape’s worst memory, implying that any cruelty was never worse than James’ actions in that scene. While that does not excuse James, it does give a gauge for how bad this rivalry was, thus making it more likely that Sirius was right to compare James and Snape’s hatred to Harry’s and Malfoy’s–which we know was equally given.
Really, we can’t know exactly what Snape’s relationship was to the Marauders. We simply don’t have enough information. Snape has more than enough reason to have inaccurate memories and James is never given a chance to speak for himself. Without more information, there’s no way to know. And certainly not enough to vilify a character an routinely abuse him–whether that character is Severus Snape or James Potter.
it still strikes me when my mom tells me what a “pretty girl” i am how unflattering that is, how much it does not stroke my ego, how much it makes me feel like im wearing a costume that doesn’t fit but everyone thinks is real, and then she mistakes that for shyness or insecurity, and assures me that im pretty, the prettiest girl she ever did see, because im her daughter, her daughter
the thing i hate most about borderline personality disorder is that i know i’m irrational. i know i overreact. i know how normal people would cope in these situations…
and i feel everything so intensely. everything hurts a little more and everything feels a little bit scarier. and being told over and over that you are difficult, that you are too much, that you aren’t even worth the bad times, it takes a pretty big toll on you.
but no one thinks of the positives of bpd. no one thinks about how, even if the sad is sadder, the happy is happier. the joy i feel is intensified by millions. a kind message from a friend should just bring a smile to my face but instead flips over my entire world. makes me think that all of this is worth it and that, yknow, maybe life isn’t so bad.
everyone just wants to get rid of bpd. the sadness sucks, but i never wanna stop feeling joy the way i do now.
i just wish the people i love thought i was worth the bad times as well as the good, i guess.
I also feel like Ludwig loved airplane rides and piggyback rides, and Gilbert would just toss laughing little Luddy into the air and catch him and tickle him, and Luddy would break out of Gilberts' hold (he's tough, he manages falls pretty well, it's happened enough times) and Gilbert would chase Luddy around their huge house (of course there were other Germanics, but they had pretty much left by now). And after Ludwig was in bed, Gilbert would write about how much fun he had today in his diary.
Today I looked at myself in the car mirror and for the first time thought I was beautiful. I looked at my eyes and was astonished at how pretty they looked. At goodwill I looked at myself and thought about how pretty my hair and face was today. This is what confidence is and it feels pretty amazing. I realize that now more then ever that I need to be alone. I need to be alone to experience who I really am, to love myself before anyone else, and to become a more independent person. As much as I would love to date right now, I need to get my shit together. I need to get a job, save up money, learn how to drive and hopefully grow more as a person and my experiences. I have missed out on SO MUCH because of my extreme social anxiety and depression. I have never really loved myself until now and even then I am just starting to.
Randomly scrolled through really old posts and it’s so weird to see how much I’ve changed since last September. Like I knew I had but I just didn’t realise how much… My blog used to be FOOD FOOD FOOD and hopelessness and despair and insecurity but nowadays it’s less like “look @ what I ate today” and more “hey I look good” and excitement for the future and even though I still have really shit days I just feel like I’m more determined and it really shows. My whole outlook on life is changing and it’s pretty cool to see that happening
Once upon a time there was
and a girl that loved him,
loved him so much.
I say loved because every day
puts it further in the past
and that’s all you are to me now.
Foggy memories of hot kisses
and giddy smiles,
the faintest ghost of your fingers caressing
it all sounds so pretty,
it all sounds so vague;
It almost feels like a movie I watched
half-asleep and had to read the summary
the next morning to get it.
I don’t know how to feel about it
because when it was all about you,
it felt like I was in stasis in the midst
of a mass explosion
that was determined to ruin me,
burn down the vines that had bitterly grown from
my tree-bark heart.
everything feels grey and there’s only ashes in my mouth
And I have to chose to remember.
Once upon a time there was a boy,
and a girl that loved him so much it left scars.
for the first time in like three months i feel like i can breathe
i found a place to live in, it’s a small dorm room but it’s pretty much in the middle of tórshavn which is so perfect
i honestly started crying earlier today because this is such good news for me, as a mentally and physically disabled person, to get the opportunity to learn to take care of myself, obviously i’ll get a helper to teach me how to become independent and that’s really exciting for me
i still have a few things in my life that make me anxious, but the biggest one is gone and i couldn’t be happier, i feel like i can finally enjoy my summer